Storms
by Lucifiel
Summary: An AU Raphael/Michael/Lucifer story, set in the end of the Holocaust.
1. Everyone hates officers. Raphael hates t...

He hated it. Ironic that he did, actually, because it was the passion of wanting to be it that had driven him to come to the place that had made him despise being a doctor. 

Dr. Raphael Morrigan lit a cigarette, drawing in deep on the flavor. Tasted like cherry today. Imported flavored cigarettes were hard come by in the time he lived in. Especially now that all the messy stuff had begun.

America had finally decided to take an interest in what was going on in Germany, which meant liberating the poor souls in the concentration camps that the Russians hadn't gotten to first. Naturally, soldiers alone could not perform the task of rescuing the Jewish prisoners. So, hundreds of Doctors were shipped in to the military bases to treat patients dying of malnutrition, exposure, and other friendly little diseases that come with being fed nothing more than gruel and left to rot in damp little spaces.  

He had to admit, it wasn't what he expected to be doing with his time. Dr. Raphael had seen a lot of things, but nothing quite like the Jewish victims.

Nothing more than skin and bones, sometimes just bones. At times he thought he was going insane, but the again the entire war was insane, wasn't it? Who was going to notice or care if one more Doctor cracked 'accidentally' overdosed on some morphine?  
  


_//The people who need care, that's who, selfish bastard,// the voice in his mind growled, //__Look at you, scared of seeing__ those people in pain. Think about it. They're actually living __with it. And you call yourself a doctor.//_

He shook his head, pressing a hand to his temple. Perhaps he should have taken some more aspirin. Whatever, it didn't matter. He shoved the tent flap aside and stepped out of his 'office', shedding his white coat for the moment. "I'll be back in five minutes," He called to his head nurse. She nodded and went back to tending to the wounded. 

Raphael passed row after row of suffering patients, stopping to check if the occasional patient had passed on. Some had, and it was quite some time before he actually made it outside.

Planes buzzed overhead and the sound of gunfire could be heard faintly in the distance, but it didn't bother him. Not any more. _//Yes, not any more. Remember when you first were transferred? You jumped at every little blast of a shell, every pop of a rifle, every scream of pain. How times change, eh Doctor?//_

"Shut up," He muttered through his cigarette, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, "Just…shut up." In order to distract himself he looked around at the bleak landscape. Soldiers in dull green uniforms, dull grey med, dull fog, dull green tents, dull muddy airplanes. 

_//Welcome to a Doctor's paradise, chum. This is what you wanted, right? More experience? Well, you got it, pal. Got it in spades.// He bit down on his cigarette, tasting the cherry and tobacco flavors. _

_ The Doctor ran a hand through his usually silky blonde hair. It hadn't been washed for days, he was sure. Raphael couldn't even remember the last time he had time enough to bathe. Between forty-eight hour shifts and five to ten minutes of sleep, he couldn't really remember much. What __did he look like? Hadn't looked in a mirror except to shave. Tiny blonde bits of stubble were growing on his chin again. He had blue eyes, as far as he could remember. Maybe they were green, but who cared? Average height; enough to be intimidating when he had to be. Women found his lazy, cat-like nature and charm irresistible, but there was no time for any foreplay when lives had to be saved. He was a Doctor first and foremost, after all. No slacking for him. Ever. _

He stayed outside just long enough to finish his cigarette, then threw the butt in the mud and turned to go inside. Unfortunately, someone stood between Raphael and his job. An irritating someone. A horny bastard someone. "General," Raphael murmured, trying to stay civil and control his shaking at the same time. 

Major Jeremy Navez, long-time acquaintance of Raphael's. The Major, Raphael knew, had retained a hard-on for him ever since the two had met in medical school. The Major had obviously gone to pursue another career, but even that didn't dissuade his pursuit of the blonde Doctor.

"Ah, Doctor, just the man I wanted to see," The Major purred, reaching up a grimy hand to caress Raphael's cheek. The Doctor slapped it away, his tongue refusing to be civil even if his mind was screaming otherwise, "Get your hands away from me," He hissed, "How many different ways can I say no?! It's like I'm speaking to a spoiled rotten three year old! Leave me alone! I'm not going to change my—"

Alas, his tirade was cut off by a vicious backhand that would have sent him sprawling in the mud had the Major not caught the dazed Doctor and spirited him away to his tent. 

Once the stars in front of his eyes cleared and he realized where the Major had taken him, he gave a frightened little yelp and tried to lunge for the open tent flap. A vain hope, since that was where the Major had been headed. Raphael was once again caught up in the Major's arms and given a good thump to the back of the head to keep him dazed while Navez tied the tent flap and removed most of his clothing. 

That finished, the Major straddled Raphael, kissing his mouth, forcing it open with his brute strength to fill it with his tongue. Raphael gagged, pounding at the Major's chest, but the Major was the more powerful of the two, and thus the Doctor stayed pinned. 

One of the Major's hands slid down Raphael's side and settled on the inside of his thigh, stroking him. Raphael blushed bright red and managed to actually shove the Major off. "You, you, you…" He couldn't even get out a complete sentence, he was so flustered. 

The Major laughed and reached for Raphael again, but before anything could happen, there was a call from outside. "Sir! The fifth infantry's back, Sir! There's a shitload of wounded, Sir!!" 

"All right," Navez growled, stealing another kiss from Raphael, then dressed. "I suggest you go back to the hospital, they'll be needing their Doctor." He chuckled as Raphael lunged for the tent flap, untied it, and bolted.

He stopped along the way, leaning against a tent to catch his breath and get a hold of himself. That had been _much too close for comfort. Raphael searched his pockets for another cigarette, but found that he had left them back at the hospital tent. "Damn, damn, damn," He murmured, running his hand through his hair, "Why me?"_

_//Because you're--//_

"SHUT UP!" Raphael bellowed, blue eyes flashing. A strong wind swirled around him, making his hair fall in his eyes again. He swatted at it and trudged back to the hospital. 

Even the Auschwitz prisoners had looked good compared to the fifth infantry's wounded. The moment he slipped his white coat back on the nurses swarmed him, scolding him and giving him information about the wounded soldiers. Something about not documenting where land mines were placed and going blindly forward into battle against some fleeing German forces. Raphael shook his head and resigned himself to cleaning up the wounded; sewing gashes together, (he'd have to request more catgut later) and assigning drugs. 

Patient after patient, gash after gash, needle under skin, pull, in, under, across, under, out, pull, over and over. His head hurt again. Another night went by without the Doctor noticing. 

Finally, the moment came. A nurse led him into his office where a bloody figure lay on an operating table, "Doctor, this is the last. I strongly suggest you get some rest after this one. I've brought another table in so you can do so." She gestured to an empty operating table off in the corner, "You don't look so good."

_//No shit.//_

"Yes," He murmured, and the nurse left him to work. Raphael started by pulling the blanket back, and cringed. A small figure, the boy didn't look more than fifteen years old. Raphael shook his head, then assessed the damage out loud to himself. "Both wrists broken, hair drenched in blood, not healthy, gash on the inner arm, possibly, _quite possibly infected, tweaked neck, slash on left cheek just below tattoo, collarbone most likely shattered, legs fine," He said it all while feeling around for any injuries he might have missed, and cut away the patient's jacket, seeing that he'd been shot in the shoulder as well. He was about to cut the wife beater off of the boy as well, when he opened his eyes. Raphael jumped back with a yelp as the boy grinned, revealing two gleaming fangs in a set of perfect teeth. Must have filed them into fangs or something. _

"Thanks fer th' diagnosis, Doc, can ya patch me up already? I gotta get back out there." 

Raphael stared down at the boy, realizing just then for some reason that the boy's hair wasn't drenched in blood, it was naturally that color. He resisted the strange urge he had to run his hands through it, and settled for putting on his best 'stern Doctor' face, "You aren't going anywhere until those wounds of yours are properly seen to."

The boy started to rise, "No time fer that, they're probably lookin' fer me—AUGH!" He screamed as Raphael shoved him back down, pushing on his shattered collarbone. 

Raphael glared, "You've only got yourself to blame for that, you know. Now stay still or I'll have to strap you down." The boy quieted, glaring up at Raphael, "Now then, that's better. What's your name?" The boy turned his head and refused to answer. Raphael rolled his eyes, "That's what I get for trying to save your life, eh? Fine. I'll just look at your tags." He leaned forward and snatched them, pulling the dog tags up just enough so that they didn't jar Michael's neck, and he could read them. "Michael Assiah? That's a nice name. My name is Raphael, all right, Michael? I'm going to give you something to dull the pain while I fix you, all right?" He moved for the morphine, but Michael snatched his sleeve.

"No drugs. M'not allowed. Just gimmie a stick."

"B-but—"

"I don't wanna get addicted!" Michael growled, "I still got my rights, don't I? Gimmie a stick!"

Raphael hesitated, then saw the boy was serious, and got him his stick. Michael let the Doctor fit it into his mouth, and clamped his fangs down on it, "G'head," he mumbled. 

The Doctor couldn't believe it. The boy stayed quiet throughout the entire ordeal. The stitching, setting, cleaning, and bandaging. Only when Raphael had finished did he realize Michael had nearly bitten through the six-inch stick, but that didn't matter. He sat on the chair beside the perspiring boy, and brushed a stray lock of hair from the boy's blue eyes, "What position are you, Michael? A Private?"

Michael looked offended, "Private? I'm a first Lieutenant!" 

"Wh-what?! You barely looked old enough to be _in the army, much less be a Lieutenant!" _

"You got somethin' against short guys, pal?!" 

"N-no! It's just…you look so _young!"_

"Well I'm _sorry! Sheesh, what th' Hell d'ya want me t'say? I'm sixteen!" _

"Only _sixteen!?!"  
  
_

"What wrong with that!" Michael yelled, actually trying to get up and deck Raphael after he'd just been sewn up and set. Raphael shoved him back down, careful of his collarbone now that it had been set.

"Stupid boy!" The Doctor fumed, his eyes blazing even though he couldn't see them, "I took all this trouble to take care of you and this is how you repay me?! By jarring your wounds and trying to beat me up because of a misunderstanding?!" He watched, satisfied, as Michael settled back down in bed, cowed for the moment.

"When will I be able to go?" He asked; worry setting in, "How long before I can shoot, at least?"

Raphael considered. "Truthfully, you could shoot a gun right now. Not many people could because of the pain it would cause, but your stamina is amazing. _However," he continued as Michael's face began to brighten, "I'm keeping you here for at least a week. Those wrists of yours need a little while to knit, not to mention that collarbone, and so do those bruises and gashes," The Doctor cocked his head to one side, "What happened?"_

Michael's expression changed from disgruntled to something Raphael couldn't quite read. "I led my men into a hopeless battle under hopeless conditions," Michael whispered, his voice sounding more adult than Raphael's, or so the Doctor thought.

Raphael waited for more. When the boy fell silent, he cocked his head again, "That's it?"

"What else is there to say? I was a moron an' I'm payin' for it," He looked away, "An' so'r my guys."

So _that had been the expression. Guilt. Michael felt guilty about making a wrong decision based on no information other than his own instinct. Raphael was about to try and comfort the boy, say that everyone made stupid decisions at some point in their lives, but they were interrupted by Major Navez, who burst into the room, eyes blazing, covered in mud. _

"Where is he!?" He roared, shaking his fists in the air, "Where's the fucking moron who sent those men to their deaths?! Where's this _genius Lieutenant who fucked up big time!" _

With each harmful word, Raphael saw Michael shrink more and more back into himself until the boy was at last unconscious. The boy was retreating into his mind to escape the guilt and horror at his actions. Every word, Raphael knew, was cutting itself deeper and deeper into Michael's heart.

"Stop it!" He shouted at Navez, his eyes flashing, "You're disturbing him! He needs rest!" The Doctor stood in between the Major and his intended prey, knowing that if Navez truly wanted to punish Michael, he could do nothing to stop him. 

The Major looked surprised for a moment, then grinned, "So you've taken an interest in this one, have you? You must have. Not many people you'd muster up the courage to yell at a Major for. Well, you've succeeded in distracting me, my beautiful Doctor." He strode forward and seized Raphael's wrists, dragging him to the empty operating table.

He slammed Raphael onto it, pinning the Doctor's captured wrists above his head. Raphael whimpered, turned his head to the side and squeezing his eyes shut as Navez straddled his hips once again. "Where's all that rough talk from before?" The Major asked, petting the Doctor's hair, "I thought you wanted to distract me from your little toy over there. 

Navez laughed at his own stupid joke, slamming his foul-smelling lips onto Raphael's mouth. Raphael made a few muffled noises and attempted, like before, to shove the Major off, but to no avail. 

The Doctor finally just gave up and lay still as the Major kissed and stroked him, tears running from his eyes. Raphael hoped Michael hadn't come out of his pseudo-coma, because he would die of embarrassment and shame if anyone saw him being all but raped by the Major.

His hopes were dashed. Raphael heard the boy gasp and sit up, hesitating only a fraction of a second before ripping the IV's out of his arms and tackling the Major off of Raphael. 


	2. Raphael still hates officers, Michael do...

Storms Part III

By Lucifiel 

Disclaimer: …… 

Raphael ducked as a few dozen syringes flew over his head. "Stop it!" He shouted, flipping the operating table that he had nearly been raped on over and taking cover behind it. 

Now that he had a means to avoid the syringes and other items that were flying around the room, he had a small time slot with which to collect himself. The Doctor straightened his coat and pulled out a smoke. He lit it and put it to his lips. Lime. He liked lime. 

"Oh YEAH!?!? Well I don' give a fuck about no court martial! My ANIKI'S the GENERAL, so fuck off an' leave my Doctor alone ya fuckin' pervert!! Jesus CHRIST! Ya think there'd be a whole mess o'Privates who'd wanna fuck ya!! At least leave the HELP alone!"

There was a crash and a grunt that sounded very much like Michael. Raphael poked his head over the table and was met with a boot to the face. He gave a cry and flew backwards, holding his cheek. The Major smirked and held Michael up by the collar. The boy appeared to be unconscious again. 

The Doctor's face contorted in fury, "You bastard…" He hissed, "He's been injured, put him down. I suppose you feel perfectly macho in defeating a sixteen-year-old boy." Navez chuckled and made as if he was going to throw Michael aside. Mistake.

Michael's eyes snapped open and a savage grin appeared on his face. He grabbed the Major's arm and used it to swing his foot up and into the Major's throat. While still in mid-air, the Lieutenant brought his other leg up and wrapped it around Navez's neck. 

Snap. 

Raphael gasped, bringing his other hand up to cover his hand in horror. It was burned on his still-smoking cigarette. He cursed and waved his hand in the air. Michael landed at the same time the Major did, panting and coughing. 

"Shit," Raphael growled, pitching his cigarette to the side and gathering Michael up, righting one of the two tables that hadn't been destroyed. The other Michael had used to bash Navez in the side of the head, apparently. It was broken in half. 

He placed the boy on the table and brushed some of the hair back from his face, "Michael? Michael, talk to me. What hurts?"

"I dunno," Michael murmured, his head lolling to the side, "You tell me…yer the Doctor…"

"Right." Raphael set about fixing Michael up again. The boy was tough; he wasn't going to die any time soon. He needed serious rest, though. The Doctor moved toward his medicine cabinet and started to clean up the mess the two had left. He had no idea what he was going to do with the body of the Major. Such a thing would be missed, unfortunately. What the Hell was he going to do?  


"Cold," Michael mumbled, trying to curl up. Raphael rushed to him and laid the boy out flat again.

"Don't, just lie still. I'll get you a blanket." He went to his suitcase and clicked it open, sifting through suits and bottles of cologne, and found his quilt. His damned nurse had made it just for him and insisted that he take it with him. The Doctor laid it over Michael's small form and sighed, "Sleep, all right? Your wounds need time to heal."

He went back to cleaning up, and finished some four hours later. Surprisingly, the nurses hadn't bothered him to look at anyone. Perhaps they were finding that their training was in fact genuine and they didn't need to run to him for every little thing that went wrong with an already dying man.

With the cleaning finally done, he sat at his desk and put his head in his hands. What the Hell was he going to do with the Major's body? Although it was a considerable relief to know that he wasn't going to be raped any time soon, a murder had been committed, and it had been an officer that was murdered. Michael would burn for it.

But what did he care, right? Michael wasn't important to him, just another patient. He stood and walked outside of the tent to have another smoke. At least the voices that had been plaguing him were-

//Suuuure he isn't important to you. You want him, don't you? Look at him, sweet and vulnerable. You could probably take him in his sleep. Go on, you know you want to.//

Raphael shook his head, "That's not true…he's a patient of mine."

//Then why are you keeping him in your office instead of sending him to the nurses where all the other patients are?//

"B-because…shut up!" 

//Convincing. Just take him…get it over with. The Major's out of the way, who's going to know?//

"I-"

"Raphael? Sir?" 

The head nurse. Shit. Raphael chucked his cigarette and dashed back into the tent, looking around frantically for something to do with the body, "Uh, yeah, I'm here…uh, I'm not quite dressed, could you please wait for a moment?"

"Certainly Sir, it's nothing major." Raphael winced at the pun and continued hunting for something to do with the body. Finally he just decided to set it on fire. What harm could it do? 

//You _idiot_. It's a _tent_. It will _burn down_.//  
  
"Oh yeah…"

//Get some sleep.//

"Screw you. I've got to get rid of this!" 

"Doc?" Michael sat up, rubbing his eyes and wincing at the pain in his wrists. Not surprising, it was a miracle in itself that the boy had managed to pull what he had with the Major and keep his tendons intact. 

"Uh, oh! S-sorry Michael, go back to sleep…I'm just trying to figure out what to do with this…"

"Oh, that? Bash its face an' dump it with th' dead. No one'll notice. This's a war, man. People die." He laid back down and was soon softly snoring away. Raphael considered. It was a good idea. He could disfigure the Major's features and no one would ever know. Of course, it was a bit unnerving how Michael could talk about something like that so frivolously, but that didn't matter. 

The Doctor stepped outside and darted around until he found a discarded gun. Darting back to his tent, he proceeded to bash the Major's face in. Raphael found that it was quite a stress reliever. That completed, he dragged the body out of the back of his tent and threw it in one of the piles of dead. 

"Whew," He found a water barrell and proceeded to wash his hands and face in it. 

//Nice going, now go back to that boy and--//

"Listen you!" Raphael exclaimed, straightening and sending water droplets scattering to the muddy ground, "I've had just about enough of this!" He stomped back to his tent, "If you're going to keep bothering me I'll just blow my own head off, how's that!"

//Something tells me that it would be more of a loss for you than me.//

"Oh, go away!" He set about trying to repair the broken operating table so that he could get some sleep. 

"Doctor Raphael! What happened to you??" His head nurse again. She hadn't bothered to knock. 

"Wh-what?" The Doctor asked, blinking as he stretched masking tape to try and tape the table back together.

"Your face!! It looks like someone stomped it with a boot!" She rushed over and felt his face with a maternal air of seriousness, "Thank goodness nothing is broken! You're very lucky! What happened?!"

"I…er…fell."

"You fell."

"Yes, I fell."

"On what?"  


"A, uh, gun."

"You fell on a gun."

"Yes! What is this, woman?? Cross-examine the Doctor day!!? If I say I fell on a God-damn gun then that's what I fell on!!!"

"Y-yes Sir…" she trailed off, then went to his cabinet and grabbed some salve and gauze, applying the salve and winding the gauze around his head, "Now leave this on for today, and I'll change it tomorrow."

"Fine, fine. Now what did you want?"

"Well, I just thought that you'd like us to take the patient now, Sir…"

"No. He stays with me."

"Sir? But--"

"He _stays_, with _me_." Raphael growled. The nurse nodded and scurried out of his office portion of the tent.

//Not attracted to him, eh?// 

"Fuck. You."


	3. Michael does something aboutsomething el...

Storms Chapter III

By Lucifiel

Disclaimer: I want them, damn it. 

It had been five days since Mikael had come to him. Five grueling days of work for the Doctor; changing bandages, distributing medicine, treating the newly wounded.

Raphael still had Mikael in his adjoining tent, and tended to him whenever he needed care.

Lately, however, Mikael had been getting restless. His wrists were knitting nicely, almost to the point where he could fire a weapon with minimal discomfort. The boy would be wanting to leave soon. 

There was a problem with that: Raphael did not want him to go. He had tried to fight his feelings, but every time he saw "Mika", the Doctor wanted to scoop him up and kiss the boy until he was out of breath.

//What did I tell you? You're attracted to him. You want to f-//

"That's enough!" Raphael flushed miserably, continuing his report to the newer, nicer Major, "I have no time for you…"

"No time for what?" The lazy drawl of Mikael's voice floated over to him, "Who're ya talkin' to? And when can I get outta here?"

"Non of your business, brat, and not for a while," Raphael smiled over a the boy, ruffling his fiery hair.

"But RAPH! I gotta get back!! If my brother learns about thi-"

"It will be all right," Raphael assured him, smiling, "You're being kept here for treatment. I don't suppose he'll be angry at you for being injured."

"Well, no, but…" Mikael sighed, reaching a hand up to play in the strands of Raphael's blonde hair, just recently washed, "Y'got really pretty hair, Raph."

"T-thank y-!!!" Raphael stiffened, his blue eyes widening. Mikael had just kissed him.


	4. Run, Raphael, run

Storms 

Chapter IV  


By Lucifiel

Disclaimer: Eeeh. This has been done too many times.

Raphael was in Heaven. Michael's nimble hands ran through his blonde locks, teasing them, while his lips and tongue successfully plundered the recesses of Raphael's mouth. He pulled back when finished, grinning. "How was that, Doc?" 

"I--"

"Don' even try t'play dumb, Doc. You've been wantin' that for_ever_ now."

"I suppose I have been…"

"I'm pretty healed up now, yeah?"

"Mostly…but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Hehe, nothing." Michael pounced Raphael, grinning like a madman. "Aniki's gonna have my ass, but whatever. I like ya, Raph. And this is th' only way I can really think of t'pay y'back fer bein' so nice t'me."

"This is all, eh?" Raphael murmured, sounding feeble. He certainly _looked_ feeble, being as that he was directly under Michael and sprawled unceremoniously on the floor. 

"'Course!" 

*Uh, lemon. If you want it email me at hitokiri_battousai78@yahoo.com . Stupid no NC-17.*

Raphael and Michael lay on one of the hospital beds in Raphael's office, panting. Actually, more like Raphael was panting and Michael was sleeping. 

The Doctor gazed down at Michael, smiling. He was so beautiful, for a boy. However, something worried him. What had he meant about his older brother being angry? Before, when Michael had been engaged in the brawl with Navez, he had mentioned that his brother was _the_ General. Raphael was quite confused.

He would have kept pondering to himself had not another nurse called from outside. "Doctor? There is someone here to see you."

"Who is it? I'm very busy."

"He says that is none of your concern, Doctor…I think he is important…"

"Right, give me a moment." He quickly tidied up the place and slipped on a new pair of slacks, then just buttoned his white coat on over his bare chest. Raphael had the presence of mind to throw his quilt over Michael's sleeping form before calling, "Send him in, please," to the nurse.

Not two minutes later, the flap parted and a vision stepped into the room. Raphael almost had to sit down. He was tall, quite tall, with fine black hair that swept across his shoulders. His presence was regal, overbearing; the eyes that looked at Raphael, or rather _through_ him, were black. Black eyes, who had black eyes?! Also, his uniform, which was rather neat considering what most soldiers had been doing in Germany, bore the four stars of a General. 

Being a Doctor, Raphael felt rather uncomfortable saluting, but he did it anyway, for form's sake. "General…what brings you here?" He knew damn well what had brought the man to his tent. He'd just fucked his brother. "Uh, Sir." Raphael added.

The smoldering eyes swept the tent once, then came to rest on the lump snoring away in the quilt. The eyes were back on Raphael in half a second, and his perfect lips parted. "My brother."

"He is here…" Raphael took a step backwards when the General advanced in short, clipped steps, sweeping the quilt off of Michael in one quick motion. 

"He is not clothed." The General spun, eyes narrowing to slits, "Have you touched him?"

"I am a Doctor-"

"You know what I mean. Don't fuck with me, boy."

The Doctor bit his lip, nodding. "We did…"

"I suppose you know that I am going to kill you."

"What?!"

The General moved forward, his lips curling into a snarl. He caught Raphael by the coat and slammed him into the ground, stepping on his chest. "You touched my brother. What did you think was going to happen? I would accept it gracefully? Michael is mine and mine alone. I will not share him with some pretty fool of a Doctor."

Raphael coughed, feeling a few ribs crack, "You…you're really going to kill me…?"

"But of course."

"Aniki! What th' Hell do y'think yer doin'!?!"

Raphael looked over, wincing, "Mika…"  


The General pressed harder, "Do not call him that."

"Cut it out, Lucifer! What th' Hell!" 

"He touched you." 

"It was nothing' I didn't want! I started it!"

"Be that as it may," Lucifer glared, taking his pistol out and pointing it at Raphael's head, "He will not live."

"ANIKI!"

To be continued.


End file.
